Breaking God
by Burnout Black
Summary: Pride. Envy. Sloth. Greed. Lust. Wrath. Vanity. Seven ways to break God's will and one way to truly love. Byakuya does not mind sinning for her delicate affection. She does not mind dwelling in Hell for his embrace. ByakuyaRukia
1. The Cost of Pride

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach, but I _do_ own the short poetic lines scattered throughout this chapter. See below for more extensive notes regarding the ideas, workings, and future interpretations of this seven or eight part story.

**Breaking God**  
_-For you have sinned-_

It fills you, makes you whole

There is very little time and like so many grains, they fall through the cracks in his hands.

The sword gleams brightly in the glow of an unseen sun and all he can think is, _not her, not her. Anyone but her. _But she is still and her reiatsu is flowing away in tendrils from her bleeding body. He breaks, deep inside, he breaks. A line has been crossed, a territory has been uncovered, and within his cold and precise mind, he discovers Hell.

He asks a pointless question, to distract, to terrify, and a beast roars from deep inside his chest.

He receives a pointless answer (after all, isn't everything pointless in the end?) and withdraws Senbonzakura. He thinks that if there were a God then He would most certainly not exist within such a despicable being as Sōsuke. He thinks many things, chief among them the impending death of the now-named Zommari.

"Chire" 

The world fragments and pieces itself back together.

Calls you forward 'till you fall

His limbs betray him, one by one as they fail to heed his instructions. They are useless now, pointless without his control.

So he cuts them away.

There is no need in his life for pointless things, for senseless objects. Byakuya relishes control; it is part of his everlasting pride. What does it mean if he lacks the use of an arm and a leg? It means nothing to him. He has nothing to lose anymore and everything to gain.

An arm and a leg mean nothing next to the dying girl that he is fighting against time for.

Zommari is mocking, bitter, and filled with his own dignity and pride. The world is not big enough for the two of them to co-exist. The world is not big enough for two men of such pride to live in the presence of each other. Byakuya knows that one of them will die before dawn rises.

It won't be him.

Eats away at both flesh and soul

A myriad of eyes stare back at him, unblinking and as foolish as the Espada wearing them. Eyes, as if they provide even a semblance of power and assurance.

Foolish. Common. Useless appendages.

But Zommari is cunning and he is a man who doesn't hesitate to use every advantage. He is an unworthy scum and so he fights dirty. A man like that, indeed if such a creature can be given such a title, knows nothing of honor and nothing of battle.

Rukia is in front of him, her beautiful white blade pointed straight at his heart. She is crumbling away, fading into eternity to rest with the angels, but her body is still trying to hurt him, trying to kill him, knowing not that she has already hurt him much more than anyone else ever could.

He dodges with ease, saving regret for later (wars and regrets can never intertwine, for they serve a fatal equation) and binds her before she can sever her own head. He does it to spare himself more than her, does it because he would break if she'd died such a dishonorable death.

Time is running out, he knows. Time is running out in tiny trickles of sand unstaunched by either blade or desperation.

Senbonzakura screams in his hands and the skies rain with the glints of a thousand swords.

He holds power in his hands and he treasures his pride.

It is now that he realizes the truth. Promises and vows to the past hold nothing in the face of the future.

He kills.

Not to fulfill a dying wife's request, nor to follow ancient laws set down by his ranking and his parents.

He kills to save his pride, to save the only one who matters now.

Pride's animosity—a hellish wall

* * *

Author's Notes: I wrote this as promised for all the readers of The Wedding That Could've Been because I felt guilty for going away from the fandom. Besides, the recent chapters in Bleach were really inspiring for my inner Byakuya and Rukia fan. I apologize if this offends any religious people out there, but the idea of their relationship suffering seven sins really struck me. The next installment will be Envy. Expect interesting results with the second chapter. Review please! 


	2. Envy's Poison

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach and I don't own the Bible. I do lay claim to the underlined pieces of poetry though.

**Breaking God**  
_-The price she pays-_

It makes you foolish, makes you blind

It's so stupid sometimes.

It's so stupid that she sometimes just wants to lie there, unmoving on her futon, tears forming but never falling from her eyes. She always wants to be more, always wants to be somebody else, anybody else.

It's foolish, she knows, but she can stop it no more than she can stop her duty to Soul Society.

Sometimes, the feelings set after he's gone for more than a day dealing with an impossible task. Sometimes, she fights the ridiculous ideas, other times… she lets go and falls because this is what she _deserves_.

She wishes she could be his kenseikan so she could always be with him and always have his approval. His kenseikan is a part of him and a part of his life. He never goes without it, could never bear to let it go. It reminds him of who he is and what he is, tells him that the mask he has built needs to be impenetrable to everyone. She wants to be like that, to be something so important in his eyes. She wishes she could be his kenseikan so that he would be proud of her for once, be proud enough to display her in front of everyone.

But she isn't his kenseikan. She's Kuchiki Rukia and she doesn't know just what she is to him anymore.

Kills the self-esteem inside

She saw Hisana's shrine once.

She wasn't supposed to see it, but she did, and she saw the burning candle and the flickering shadows the flames cast on her sister's portrait. She doesn't remember turning away from that picture, but she does remember the years of self-doubt that followed.

She remembers all too clearly.

She's reminded of it every single damn day she lives. She'll look into the elegant mirrors of her bathroom and hold back the urge to claw viciously at her reflection or herself. She doesn't _want_ to look like _her_; she never _asked_ to carry the image of a dead woman on her face or on her body. She feels lost, like she's never had an identity, like she's never **existed**.

And as much as she hates to admit it to herself, sometimes, she's glad she resembles Hisana so much. She's glad for it when Byakuya is tired enough to let her comfort him, thinking maybe that she's Hisana. She's glad for it and she knows it's wrong to feel that way. She knows it's wrong to be jealous of her dead _sister_.

But she wants to be that close to Byakuya. She wants to be the one that he promises impossible things to. She wants to be the one who can make or break him with a smile. She wants…she wants…

She wants to be anyone but herself.

Turns you green with dreadful hate

Her price for loving him is steep and it scorches her deep at night when she slumbers alone in her room.

She used to be strong enough to stand up to these feelings. She used to be better than this. She used to be the one who never cried, the one who kicked Ichigo around until he turned black and blue all over. She used to be unbroken.

But she's broken now, brought down to her knees in the face of an unbelievably _wrong_ love.

She wonders if he's satisfied, if he knows what he's done to her. If he knows that he's reduced her into wanting to be her dead sister or his precious kenseikan. She wonders if it even matters to him, if any of this matters to him.

She doesn't think so. She doesn't know anymore.

The maids. The cook. Senbonzakura. His parents. Everywhere she turns, she sees someone else that is closer to him, someone else that owns a different part of him until there's none of his soul left for her. She doesn't get the privilege of cleaning his bedroom and seeing the different objects that reside there with him. She doesn't get the privilege of having her food being relished or eaten by him. She doesn't have the privilege of being his partner for life. She doesn't even have the privilege of influencing his opinions the slightest bit.

It's like everywhere she turns; she's left with nothing of him.

She envies everyone and the jealousy is taking control of her. She can't stop it and she doesn't even know if she wants to.

He is everywhere but with her, and it drives her half mad.

Envied too soon, known too late. 

Blinded as she is, she can't see that who everyone really envies…

Is her.

She doesn't see the slight tensing of _his_ figure when she locks herself in on the day of Kaien's death. She doesn't see the fire that burns in his eyes when she carelessly shares a drunken joke with Renji. She doesn't see him turn away from her when she leaves to go to the real world where Ichigo is.

Envy, the sin that started the War of Troy and the bubbling mass of hatred and self-loathing.

She suffers it for him as her punishment.

He carries it for her as reminder of his loyalty to her.

It burns an acid green trail that makes their love so much more fragile, so much more consuming.

Envy.

Her heart is sickeningly green.

* * *

Author's Note: I am particularly fond of this chapter; I'm not quite sure why, but it really does imprint itself in my memories. Rukia has always been my favorite character and as strong as she is, I'm sure she has her self-doubts and her demons. It doesn't seem implausible to me that she would suffer from envy if she were in a relationship with Byakuya and vice-versa. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It really did help speed up the coming of this second chapter. Comments are always well received even if they are there just to point out confusion over my writing. Next up, Wrath. 

To Rukia.mas: I'm quite pleased that you like my other writings and I would like to take the time to explain to you the workings of the first chapter. I completely agree with you in saying that it's confusing. Even I think it sounds disjointed and fragmented, which can be appealing to some people and just downright frustrating to others. I would highly recommend checking into the most recent Bleach chapters where Byakuya starts fighting Zommari for clarification. I'm not sure if it will help you as much, but it will definitely provide some background for what I wrote. Thank you for your honesty and your continued support. I apologize for not sticking up a warning about the need for background information beforehand.

To Eeza77: I will take your suggestion into consideration. It may actually end up being used in Wrath, though we will have to see. If it's not used for that sin, it will probably be used for the sequel to this seven-part piece of fiction. I am definitely going to be writing a sequel that deals with the seven virtues of their relationship to balance things out a bit. Thanks for the idea!


	3. Disillusioning Wrath

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach and I don't own the concept of the seven sins. I do owe the four lines of poetry within this chapter though.

**Dedication: **Special thanks to Eeza77 for the idea. I took some license with the idea you gave me, but I think you'll like the result.

**Breaking God**  
_-What it means to be stronger-_

Clawing its way through your heart

The blood tastes acrid in her mouth, bitter and metallic, made worse by the lingering traces of pain resonating from her abdomen. She doesn't register anything at first, wonders if this Hell or if this is Heaven. The white scenery stares back, holy as the land she's dreamed of ever since she laid hands on a Bible, but her mind kicks in and Shirayuki is telling her that _this_ is **Hell**.

She lives. And Heaven is really Hueco Mendo—her personal land of torment.

How? She wonders, why? What being ventured to save her, ventured to heal her broken body and spirit?

_'Feel it. Seek it.'_ Shirayuki whispers lovingly by her ear, a slowly mending ballerina lace tutu shielding her injuries.

She turns a pair of nearly blind eyes forward and struggles to regain her senses and her perceptions. The fog lifts slowly, but she knows who her savior is before she even sees him. There is no other.

"Nii-sama!" She's not sure if the cracked scream is coming from her own throat or from some ambiguous being. She raises herself up on shaky arms and grits her teeth as a searing pain lashes out at her skin.

"You're not completely healed yet. I'm sorry." Isane's voice is soft and gentle and oh-so-kind, but they fall short of reaching her ears. She wants to scream something, anything, say that she'll never completely heal. She wants to let them at her heart, rip it from her own chest, and point at the blackened spots on it where it's rotted away from grief and anguish. She wants to show the fourth division vice-captain her mental scars and say that nobody will ever be able to heal away her memories of Kaien, of stealing on the streets, of having a sister who left her to die in an alley.

The anger washes over her frail body and she takes strength from it, dragging her weakened self through it as if the burning of the fire will make everything so much better. Her throat works, but nothing comes out, and she can feel her inner world tearing apart at the seams.

'_Calm yourself. This anger will do nothing for you in the end except perhaps make you look still more like a child in his eyes. You would not wish for it, would you? Having danced so his eyes could see you and deem you worthy, you would not dare throw it all away for the sake of a man who killed himself and bloodied your hands?' _Sode no Shirayuki stands on point and the delicate ribbons of her ballet shoes trail lightly at her heels, marking a path that they have traveled together.

She backs away from Shirayuki's voice, stumbles away and calls up the anger tearing her soul asunder to form a shield.

_I'm not good enough. I wasn't good enough. I couldn't save Orihime. I couldn't save myself. I couldn't save Kaien's memory. Icouldn'tcouldn'tcouldn'tcouldn't._

She screams, long and loud, until even the Hollows retreat into their places of shadow.

Torrential, unconventional, lovingly sharp

Senbonzakura has no qualms about displaying her anger. Her lips are a shade of violent red as they curve up into a less-than-amused smile. Her eyes are narrowed into slits and he can see her fingernails digging crescent marks into her pale palms.

'_Bastard. To think that he would've even thought of killing her while she was lying nearly lifeless on the ground, staining the white land red with her blood.' _She hisses sharply and spits to the side, crimson nails sinking deeper into tender flesh.

He remains quiet, unwilling and unable to agree. His back faces Rukia so that she may not see the tight anger written across his features, so that she may not see the flickering flames in his eyes that have yet to recede with Zommari's death.

As she screams, a long and lonely and **painful** sound, Byakuya finds himself clenching his fists by his sides. All of a sudden, it is not enough to simply have the Espada's blood on his hands. All of a sudden, he realizes it will never be enough. The man is dead, but he wants to reform the body, bring the despicable being back to life, and kill it again and again and again until the blood washes away her grief and his failure to have come sooner.

'_I hope he burns in everlasting Hell.' _Senbonzakura whispers harshly by his ear and he pretends he does not listen, pretends that he does not really agree with her words.

She pulls away, a mocking laughter filling his head, and he knows that she's seen through him.

Seen through his lie.

Painting the world red, calling itself art

The hate settles deep inside her, comfortable and warm. She can't let it go, can't forget the invincibility that this feeling gives her, as if she can conquer the world through sheer will. Her lips part, but Shirayuki refuses to let her speak, freezing her words in mid-air until they shatter into fragments through her soul.

'_Stop.' _The command is stiff and harsh and it stings, but Rukia can't break her instincts and she can't break the need to _say_ and _let go_ of all this burning shame.

"You should not have saved me." Anger. Fear. Guilt. Hatred.

She needs someone to blame and so she will blame him.

She hates him for saving her.

_Warm blood as it splatters all over her and she's being held in __**his**__ arms even as Shinsou breaks through flesh. She's not dead because she's been saved again and someone else has to bleed for her, has to suffer for her. Gin's facial expression is frozen between being amused and laughing at finding another weakness in her brother's chipped armor. She doesn't want to bog him down, doesn't want to drag him down with her. _

_He doesn't let her go and so they both fall. _

She hates him for loving her.

_The bounto is strong and the sword is inches away from slitting her uniform and shredding the fabric into tiny bits of cloth. She doesn't stop fighting, knows that she's got to survive this herself or be killed as a result of her inability to do anything. He catches her yet again and she wants to push him away from her and escape those eyes, those eyes of his that look at her with so much intensity._

_The world fades to black, but she can hear his heart beat steadily even in the darkness._

She hates him for everything he's done for her and will continue to do.

_Silence. Blessed sleep at last. Ah, she thinks, so this is what Death feels like. Quiet, nothing like the chaos of battle. She lets herself drift away only to open her eyes and see life. See him._

"Don't save me."

Wrath so barren as an unstrung harp

Kuchikis are supposed to be survivors.

When everyone else has given up hope, they are supposed to be the ones that refuse to die away quietly.

Her words are self-deprecating and self-hating. It fills him with a sickness that he hasn't felt in ages. He wants to say that she needs to rest, wants to say that she should reserve such words for later when she has recovered, but he does not.

"Be quiet."

'_Ever considered walking up to that girl and shaking her?' _Senbonzakura's voice is snide and he feels his patience stretching thin.

"Do not forget that you are a Kuchiki first and foremost. You may save your useless words for later. I do not expect your gratitude, but I expect you to use your life wisely. I did not come here just to hear that you wished to die."

_Can't you see that you're already far stronger than I ever expected you to be?_

Rukia is silent and he can see her anger radiating off in waves. She's mad at him for controlling her fate again, for deciding her future for her.

He knows that she'll pick herself up soon enough and continue marching forward, with or without him.

Kuchikis, after all, always survive.

* * *

Author's Note: Ick. I didn't like this chapter. I feel like I've neglected to really make is seem as if they are angry at one another and at Fate. I may or may not go back and rewrite the entire thing, but for now, it'll stay up. I know already that some of you guys will argue that Rukia is out of character here, but to save unnecessary criticism, I'll explain my thoughts here. Rukia strikes me as the type that half wants to keep on living and half wants to "suffer" for her "sins". She did not hesitate about giving away her life for the 9th Espada and seemed to regret nothing when informed of her execution. I took some liberty with the extent of her wanting to remain unsaved, but I'm sure it's not so impossible for her to think such thoughts. Regardless, I would really appreciate comments and reviews about this chapter. I always find the time to read over every single comment left by you guys. 

In addition, for those of you who were wondering about Sode no Shirayuki's appearance in my fanfic. I thought that she would be a ballerina, someone out of** Swan Lake**. She would actually look like the person in this URL I have, but this site is being stupid and won't let me upload the picture or give you the url. So, if you want to see it, go to my homepage: vitiates . livejournal . com. Without the spaces, or if you're too lazy, just click on my profile and the link will be where it says homepage. Next up, Sloth. Expect an update in a couple weeks because sloth is hard to do for them.


	4. Sloth's Languishment

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach or Byakuya and Rukia would be having a heartbreaking relationship. I do own the poetry though.

**Dedicated to: **All my faithful reviewers for keeping the love of writing within me. You guys are what inspire me every time I write another chapter. I will never be able to thank you guys enough.

**Breaking God**  
_-Running headlong into tragedy-_

"I will not be home tonight until quite late."

She nods, understanding as always, never realizing he's slipping away from her until it's too late.

"Don't stay up waiting for me." He wants to sound apologetic, wants to make promises of a day where he'll take the time to stop and _breathe_ with her by his side. But there's no point in making promises to her anymore. They both know his promises will be empty anyways.

He wants to say something, but he can't bring himself to. Doesn't know if it's because he can't or if it's something more. So he turns away, steadily walking out those doors into snow-covered **winter**, back turned towards her yet again. She swallows the pain of rejection and musters up a smile for his sake even though he won't turn around to see it.

Kuchiki Byakuya.

If diligence were to exist within a single person, he would be the Michelangelo statue carved with harsh lines of hard work and dedication. Perfectly molded until severity and years of no-nonsense take their toll on his stiff back and curt commands. The epitome of flawless workings and aristocratic responsibility.

But statues, as beautiful as they are, must lack a heart.

Can't get yourself back up

The squads speak of him with admiration coloring their tones. Every male wants to be him and every female wants to have him.

"Look!" They say often, naïve smiles dotting their young faces. "Look at Kuchiki-taichou! Never a piece of paperwork turned in late, never caught off-guard in battle, never lazing around." They sing his praises left and right, bowing to his superiority, scurrying to obey his ever command.

"First to finish a mission, first on the battlefield, and first to his office." They announce proudly, chests puffing up with importance just from being around him. He is an icon, a god.

"How lucky is Kuchiki-san to be adopted into the family! How honored she must feel!" They exclaim, a round of words that circle around and around Soul Society until her smiles turn brittle and cold, until her heart slowly begins to stop beating. How idiotic, she thinks. How foolish. But she does not speak her mind and shutters herself away behind empty promises and lonely nights.

And still, Soul Society rings with adoring words of the sixth squad captain and his efficiency, his meticulous efforts. **Spring** brings with it a whirlwind of sakura blossoms and the same aching loneliness that she'll never admit to anyone.

Dimly aware as life goes by

Does the world rotate so slowly? Does pain take so long to fade away into a slow burning?

She puts her hands over her heart and raises two pools of dark violet up to the steadily dimming sky. The **summer **breeze kisses her tenderly but it can't and will never, replace _his _touch. Ichigo lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and she smiles back at him, reflecting on a love she could've had, on a love that was hers once upon a time. But that is a different world and a different story. An unwritten page in her life.

"Where's Byakuya?" His voice is gruff and deep, eyes burning with something dangerously close to desire. It would be so easy to give in….

She turns away from his intense gaze and dreams of a different man, of a commanding presence and black eyes that draw her in and never let her go. She dreams of a wedding that will never happen, of a nobleman who holds her heart in his warm and protective hands. She dreams and pretends that she will wait for as long as it takes.

Her answer is so quiet that she's not sure if Ichigo even hears her, but he does. He always does.

"He's gone on a mission." She whispers, wishing the words will reverse themselves and be untrue.

Ichigo's hold on her shoulder tightens and she chokes on her emotions as the fireflies cast a somber glow around her. She could take his hand, walk home with him, and be cherished for eternity. She could turn her back to_ him_ and walk away into a new future with Kurosaki.

She could, but she doesn't.

Can't ever get enough

"Recon mission in the real world." He speaks slowly, softly, almost urgent but never quite there. His hand is resting carefully on Senbonzakura's hilt and he flicks a piece of hair out of his eyes irritably. His question goes unvoiced and his apologies have long since died on his lips.

She doesn't bother to lift her head to meet his eyes and settles for staring dully out the window. **Autumn** again, the fall of colorful leaves decorating the ground beneath her reach. She listens to the sounds of shinigami laughing as they trip over the leaves and tumble into piles of red and gold and faded orange. So carefree, she laments. So open. Never tasting for once the feeling of being second, always second.

"Don't stay up for me. I won't be back for at least a couple days." So familiar, these words. She wishes they were foreign, wishes that this wasn't the seven hundredth time she's heard them. He glances at her neutral expression and leans in to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the forehead before sweeping out of her room.

He doesn't look back and she doesn't smile this time.

"I won't." She whispers quietly to herself, but he's already gone.

Living in Sloth's eternal lie

"How long will this go on?" She murmurs to her reflection in the mirror and laughs hollowly.

There has never been, after all, any point in asking a question that has already been answered.

**Forever**. This will go on forever.

_"How diligent is Kuchiki-taichou! How wonderfully attentive!" They exclaim, adoring eyes trained on their leader. "How blessed is Kuchiki-san in being around him every day!"_

Oh, how wrong were they.

_"First to work. Last to leave. He'll never be caught dead slacking off!" The girl smiles, a new recruit to the sixth division, and a slave to the image that Soul Society is presented with already._

From neglect grow the weeds of depression. And she no longer feels the days as they pass ever so slowly by, no longer responds to his rare kisses, no longer feels her beating heart break every time he says he has a mission or paperwork or a duty to be fulfilled.

_"He's so perfect."_

So wrong.

Kuchiki Byakuya has neglected love.

And so, the weeds grow until they choke his heart.

* * *

Author's Note: I actually like this chapter as well. For my curious readers on the ambiguity of sloth here, I used the old Biblical definition of sloth, which was: wasting due to lack of use or allowing entropy, expanding into almost any person, place, thing, skills, or intangible ideal that would require maintenance, refinement and/or support to continue to exist. Naturally, I thought of the maintenance needed to support love and it seems to me that Byakuya would most likely suffer from a lack of support for love due to his reserved nature and hesitance to love again after Hisana. 

For those who are sick of the angst and tragic elements of this story, cheer up! The next three chapters, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust will be more uplifting. I've already planned my idea for Gluttony and am working on Greed (which will be the next chapter). In addition, the sequel to Breaking God will definitely be written. As a teaser, it will involve the seven virtues and be fluffy and sweet for the most part, so keep an eye out for it once I'm done with all seven chapters of this.

To IVIaedhros: The whole point of this story was to illustrate the seven sins and their relationship. I appreciate the critique, but I am sorry to inform you that the rather "pointlessly overdone" connections will continue. I will try to tone it down, as I did in this chapter, but some things need to be stated for dramatic purposes. Thank you for the comment.


	5. The Glutton and His Greed

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach. I think we're already established that.

**Important Note: **Anonymous reviews have been enabled, I had no idea I'd disabled them to begin with! Please don't think I was trying to isolate reviews to only fanfiction users!

**Breaking God**  
_-He's not pretending to be a saint-_

_Rule Number Twenty-Two. A Kuchiki Head should always strive to be impassive and calm so as to command respect_

It's not a scene that he should be impassive about, at least not if he has a heart. Rukia is limp and looking perfectly like a sacrificial lamb on an alter, the red collar only further emphasizing her loss of freedom. The ryoka is lying in a pool of his own blood, useless. Abarai is far from being in a savior state.

Barely minutes ago, he was on the opposing side, the side of the law. But the rules of the game have changed and Byakuya knows what must be done now. He cannot take back his passive actions towards her execution, but he can do this for her, as an apology, as a sign that the rules no longer matter in this twisted game. As shinso sinks into his chest, piercing muscle and flesh and tissue, he can hardly feel the pain.

She is safe, safe in his arms. And somehow, that makes everything right again.

He allows his impassive façade to drop for just a second, an expression of complete relief taking over.

Ironically, it is that act of saving her that earns him the most respect.

_Rule Number Thirty-Five. A Kuchiki Head must not associate closely with commoners._

When he intertwines his fingers with hers, when he brushes away the sweat on her forehead as she tosses in the throes of a nightmare, when he lays a hand on her shoulder to remind her that she will always have someone on her side, he is associating with a commoner.

It does not matter that she is of royal standing now or that she can manage enough manners and formality when needed to successfully imitate his deceased mother. The blood running through her veins is impure, infused with the spirit of Rukongai. He is thankful for that. He is thankful for that tainted blood her heart pumps out every second. He is thankful because it means he is not in love with someone of his own bloodline. But he thinks, even if she were his sister, he would still love her with same ardor. There are, after all, some things in this universe that transcend all societal values.

His love for her is one of those few things.

As the scarf slips delicately around her fragile neck, he revels in the meaning of that small action. She has accepted him and he has finally mustered the courage to invite her into the remains of his heart.

Associate with commoners.

He thinks Rukia is heavenly and otherworldly, with a spirit as pure and noble as any he's ever seen before.

She is not a commoner; she is an angel.

_Rule Number Thirty-Eight. A Kuchiki Head must be proper and polite at all times. He must show respect for his opponent in battle regardless of the circumstances._

He neither respects nor wishes to respect the opponent in front of him.

Kariya Jin, he thinks, is nothing but a coward and a fool. A coward for hiding behind his lackeys and refusing to attack Soul Society outright. A fool for allowing his subordinate to target Rukia. He places a calm hand on the cool hilt of Senbonzakura, fingers gliding past wood and steel. He steps into the clearing, slow and controlled.

"You are the one they call Kariya Jin, are you not?" It's a rhetorical question and an insult at once. Rhetorical because they both know the answer to that question and insulting because he does not allow the man in front of him the privilege to give his name. True warriors die honorably in knowing the name of the opponent who killed them. Byakuya does not feel that Kariya deserves a name, much less his own.

"You have come to avenge Kuchiki Rukia?"

"Chire, Senbonzakura."

_You don't deserve to say her name._

He doesn't answer the question; it is after all, a question that they both know the answer to. Respect? He watches as Senbonzakura encircles Kariya in her deadly embrace, and turns to the side, a shadow hiding the nearly imperceptible smirk on his face. Animals like the Bounto don't deserve respect.

_Rule Number Fifty-Seven. A Kuchiki Head should always consider their duty to Soul Society far higher than all other matters. Regardless of emotional attachments, what the Central 46 demands must be followed _

He watches her with impassive eyes, barely betraying the anxiety worming its way in his heart. "On the orders of the Central 46, I am to be deployed on a near-permanent mission in Hueco Mundo."

She turns slowly, the blanket and sheets of the bed shifting around her body until they seem to form a protective cocoon around her figure. Her mouth opens, he wonders if she will wish him luck, or if she will tell him to take care. She does neither, choosing instead to fix a nearly hostile glare on him.

"And you would leave me here without a second thought? Alone, with only the long silence to answer back my questions?" Her lips curve into a sardonic grin that smears her beauty; it is an expression that twists his heart.

_'I thought you knew better than that.'_

Her thoughts echo off the walls in her room and he understands them, even if he doesn't hear them.

There used to be a time when he wouldn't care. But that time has passed.

"No." He says, almost impulsively, almost emotionally. He breathes, closes his eyes, and repeats the word again—softly, lovingly. "No. You will…come with me." He pauses, unhappy with the way the words have left his mouth and ventures to say it right this time. If she notices the unbecoming hesitation, she does not react. He is thankful for that. "If you would like."

She smiles languidly, like water tripping and slipping down a cluster of rocks in a stream and shifts to climb out of bed. Her hands are warm when she traces the fine structure of his face and her presence is a comforting balm to his past wounds. "Then let's go. I'm ready."

Just like that. No questions, no strings. Just like that, she will follow him, and he is amazed at her selfless love and her loyalty yet again.

This is why he loves her. This, and a million other reasons.

_Rule Number Sixty-Eight. A Kuchiki head must not overindulge in pleasures of any kind, be it in food, bodily lust, or other. Restraint is a key trait that separates the Head from the rest of the lower class world._

She's addicting, he realizes. Her presence, her laughter, the way her eyes light up when she sees another Chappy figurine—addicting. Byakuya has never experienced obsession before, nor has he ever wanted in excess for anything. But he has certainly fallen into the ways of Hell for his gluttony and his greed.

She is his. Forever. The ring on her finger is a mark of his possession of her. The slight taste of him in her mouth is yet another binding chain. For as long as he will live and for as long as she will live, he will be hers gladly and she will be his eternally in body, spirit, heart, and mind.

He revels in her presence, in her confident touches (so unlike Hisana's delicate apologies for brushing her hand on his). He wants more—more of this light and dizzying feeling. He wants more of the fire she stirs up in him. He can't get enough.

Bending and breaking the rules has not been a heavy price to pay for her safety, for her love, and for her constant presence by his side.

She is his opium.

Her kisses are as intoxicating as the finest sake in Soul Society.

Her simple touch is as enthralling as the wealth of money around him.

She is his drug.

There is no cure.

* * *

Author's Notes: I decided to combine Greed and Gluttony since they are supposed to be one and the same according to the Catholic Church's official list of the seven sins. I don't know why. I know this chapter isn't as focused on the two half-sins as much as the other chapters have been focused on their respective sins, but I'm decently satisfied with what came out. It almost turned into lust towards the last part, but I refrained. The Sixth sin according to the Catholic Church is Vanity (narcissism), which I will have quite a bit of fun with. The last is, of course, Lust. I'm sure all the readers here will especially enjoy that last chapter of Breaking God. It won't be a lemon, I'm sorry (I cringe when I try to write lemons). But it'll be sensuous in that kind of slow, spine-tingling way. Drop a comment if it doesn't infringe on your time. I always love reading reviews. 

**Excerpt from Lust (The Seventh Sin)**

His fingers slowly brush an errant lock of hair away from her face, slim digits easily threading through the thin and silky strands. Her breath catches and her heartbeat runs to a fast cadence of its own. He is always gentle with her, but his eyes speak of something_ more_ this time. Gentle hands tilt her head back and softer lips press against her own. She whimpers and her knees buckle, gasping as he keeps her steady against his sturdy frame.

Oh, she thinks hazily as his tongue slips through her parted lips, Oh.

What _passion_.


	6. Vanity's Reflection

**Disclaimer: **Yes, I own Bleach. Of course I do. This is obviously reflected in my pointless fanfiction writing, when I could be applying all this to the manga. Haha, I wish I owned Bleach. See below the story for my Author's Note. 

_Brought to you by: _Three Days Grace – Never Too Late 

**Breaking God  
**_-Mirror, Mirror, on the wall-_

The person shimmering on the water's surface is too thin, too sallow. 

That girl's eyes are too large, too hopeful as they stare back at her. The mouth is too small and there are traces of fatigue wearing down the person's face as they look at one another—girl to reflection, reflection to girl. She's not sure if she's the reflection of a girl, or the girl herself. Whoever she is, she thinks she's just as ugly as anything she's ever seen before. The water trickles down her face _(down the reflected face on the river's surface) _from where she's tried to scrub her skin clean. She lifts a hand in anger and disgust, watching as her reflection does the same, and pauses at the look of loathing she finds staring back at her. 

The image blurs and shatters into a thousand fragments under the force of her attack. She doesn't realize she's destroying herself, or maybe she does, but just doesn't care. She finds that the less she cares, the less she'll hurt inside. Her hands keep clawing at the water blindly, skin pale and cold, even as her mind screams for her to stop the hatred, stop the ache in her chest, _(stop seeing everything that she is not)_. This is how Byakuya finds her, shaking and sick with the beginnings of insanity as she sits, knee-deep in water. 

Her mouth opens in protest as he picks her up in his arms, ignoring the water as it soaks through his captain's robe. She wants to ask him why he does this for her, why he even bothers with her pathetic, little self. She's not beautiful nor is she otherworldly. She wants to ask him if he's just as repulsed by the sight of her as she is. But the question stays lodged at the back of her throat and she settles for smiling weakly _(never knowing, couldn't possibly know how much she looked like poor, dead Hisana)_ at him. This is a broken record, a broken video, playing over and over again. And she's the same foolish girl tripping and falling over herself in an effort to gaze upon a prince's face. She's too thin, too short, too flat, too _everything_. 

She doesn't know which would be worse—to be a reflection of her, or to _be_ her. 

Pretty dolls all lined up in a row

She's not desperate enough to ask that question at the tip of her tongue as she rests by Ichigo's side. He's quiet for once, and she finds her thoughts wandering down that same alleyway again. His world is filled with so many beautiful people, woman with silky hair and perfect complexion. The magazines she finds at the supermarket are filled with the images of long, slender legs and gleaming, white smiles. When she rushes to the mirror in his bathroom, she finds her smile to be cracked and brittle, like a bone left to bake in the sun for too long. There are articles in the newspapers and stories in those magazines. She reads them carefully, wondering if there's any cure for her. Everywhere she looks though, it's the same article with the same headlines and the same sentences spelled out in tiny, black characters. "Skinny is the new out, unhealthy for new generations," they proclaim and she curses her slim waist and slight frame. 

"I like my woman to be…you know, substantial," one guy says, an arm around his smirking girlfriend. "Skinny girls just look like they've been sick forever. I mean, it gets disgusting sometimes, ya know?" Oh, she knows. How could she not? She spends an unhealthy amount of time in front of the mirror, tracing every bump of the spinal cord and every rib. She wonders if Ichigo ever notices her moments of inattentiveness or the way she's been trying to eat more, to be more substantial in this world where ugly people are shunned. Looks are everything, she learns, and she is on the losing side of the battle. 

She wants to ask Ichigo if he finds her repulsive, but Orihime is calling from a distance away, and she silently leaves. She doesn't want to see the very image of 'sweet, kind beauty'. She doesn't think she can stand it anymore; maybe she's never been able to stand it to begin with. But that's neither here nor there and the days stretch on as she falls into the mirrors of vanity. Soon it becomes impossible for anyone to reach her. She's too far gone to save this time. 

"I don't understand why you care," Tatsuki mumbles as she bites off a large and unattractive bite from the energy bar. Crumbs litter the karate girl's mouth and Rukia takes careful time in eating slowly and spotlessly. "I mean, beauty is beauty, sure. But how long do you honestly think beauty can last? Certainly not forever. I've got more important stuff to worry about, like kicking some butt in the competition this Saturday. Stop worrying so much, I'm sure nobody else worries about this stuff." 

But she cares. And this is all that matters in this fairy tale that is not. She cares all too much, to the point where she can no longer walk in the hallways without imagining the mocking laughter of better-endowed females. Her reflection grows sullen and desolate as time passes. 

But that's okay. It's just another imperfection. 

Mirrors winking, hung on the wall

This time, the person staring back at her is stunningly beautiful. 

The counter in front of her is littered with rouge, lipstick, foundation, mascara, eyeliner, nail polish, lotion, and a million other cosmetics. She brings a hand to touch the glass of the mirror hesitantly and smiles as she realizes that this person, this gorgeous lady, is indeed her. Her lips are glossy with mankind's lip-gloss and they are a shade of butterfly-pale pink, Her eyes are large and her eyelashes stand out in sharp and luxurious relief. Clipped to her previously lackluster hair is a voluminous hair extension; it makes her tresses seem longer, straighter, _better_. 

She turns from the mirror in satisfaction and quickly steps out of the bathroom, her yellow sundress and hair ribbon flowing together with her movements. She feels rejuvenated, as if the ugly duckling has truly shed its wings. 

"You take way too long, Rukia." Ichigo complains, long and loud, back towards her. She smirks, walking over effortlessly, a manicured hand clamping down on his broad shoulders. Perhaps it is then that the ryoka realizes how completely _screwed_ he is, maybe it is the confident and yet scarily glass-like laughter that Rukia _(or she who is Rukia and is not at the same time) _gives. Either way, when he turns around, he knows that his confident, his best friend, his secret object of affection, has changed into something far more powerful _(and dangerous)_. She is beautiful, but it is an almost cruel type of beauty, one that is corrupt and unnatural. For a ridiculous moment, he thinks that she must've sold her soul.

"I'm going out." She announces, and he can only nod his head dumbly, hands itching to run down her gossamer hair. 

It isn't until much later that he realizes her need for beauty has destroyed everything she used to be. 

A fake face drawn so beautiful

The voices have gone away, and with their departure, Shirayuki gloats from the recesses of her soul. She turns heads wherever she goes now, petite and yet completely beautiful. There is no one to mock her slender figure anymore, eyes too concentrated on her shimmering, pink lips and half-lidded gaze. It doesn't even occur to her _(or maybe it has, but she doesn't care anyways) _that she's absorbed her zanpakuto rather than her zanpakuto channeling her own personality. 

Later, she will regret these moments of taking to the streets just to watch the reactions of every single male in the vicinity. But for now, for the rest of summer, she is content in her beauty. False though it may be, neither she nor Shirayuki cares much. She can see Ichigo's carefully veiled desire and Kon's obvious awe at his transformed "Nee-san". She wonders what Byakuya will think when she returns in the waning days of August. She wonders whether he will be proud of her and if the clan heads will overlook her Rukongai past in favor of her newfound beauty. She thinks upon these ideas, turning them in her head with something dangerously close to satisfaction. 

Far from her sight, Urahara notes the changes beneath a brittle smile and a waving fan. He knows that this she-demon is not Rukia, can't be Rukia, and will only bring trouble wherever she goes. He mulls over what action he should take, inform her dearly beloved 'brother' or stay quiet and watch the scenes unfold. It's not his affair to worry over, he finally decides. Though she may cause terrible grief in her return to Soul Society, though she may flip the stars of Fate over once again, he has no part in this. Benihime disagrees at his side, but he pats the sword and spends his hours trying to reassure the both of them that there isn't anything he can do. 

He's not quite sure if he even believes his own words. 

Trade dear Vanity your lonesome soul

She steps through the portal with newfound confidence practically radiating off of her. Renji's face is the first one that greets her, expression twisted into disbelief and mild appreciation. She smirks to herself inwardly, passing by him with her head held high. "You might want to close your mouth, Renji. If you keep it open any longer, things might fly in." She watches as he abruptly shuts his mouth, raising an eyebrow in amusement. 

"W-wow." He stutters, hand rubbing his head in a characteristic show of awkwardness. "You look great." The words are so unlike Renji that she's taken aback for a moment. It's almost as if he doesn't consider her the same Rukia as before. It's as if this is their first meeting and they'd never gone through the horrors of Rukongai before. Her stomach lurches painfully and she wonders why there's a heavy weight pressing down on her chest all of a sudden. 

"Thanks." She murmurs back, equally distant and walks away from him, her steps not quite as self-assured as before. She stops as Byakuya enters her vision, unsure if she wants to see his reaction. But hadn't she wanted things to be different between them? Hadn't she wanted him to see her in a different light, as someone beautiful and not mere garbage off the streets? Hadn't she wanted his desire? She steels her nerves and bows before him, raising her head slowly. "Nii-sama." She pronounces, the words crystal clear and perfect as a statement could ever be. 

His expression is carefully blank, one hand going to cup her face gently. "You've changed." He hesitates over his next words, a rare occurrence, and locks gazes with her. She doesn't shy away, suddenly ashamed of what she's done. "We'll talk more when we reach the manor." 

He drops his hand suddenly, as if burned, and she resists the urge to bury her face in her hands in despair. She follows him meekly; somehow still feeling as if she's disappointed him, as if she's failed him yet again. The clan leaders part before them, though their faces are noticeably happier and kinder as they glance at her. She thinks that at least she's managed to do something right this time, and is surprised to find the thought as bitter as black coffee. 

In the safety of their quarters does she finally dare to say something to him. "You are angry." She states bluntly, cursing the reflection of her sword that she's become. Cursing her vanity and her carelessness and her inability to do anything but yell at herself time and time again. 

"No." He says firmly, and it's almost as if she can believe that. But she can't, because as she gazes into the mirror hanging by the wall, she's filled with disgust again. The face staring back at her isn't her own and the words coming from her mouth are not her own. Nothing is as it should be. "Perhaps surprised by your choice, but not angry. Did you feel the need to apply such cosmetics because of the Kuchiki elders?" It's an excuse she can latch onto—she knows. He is giving her an excuse to use, a shield to hide behind. 

She strides straight into the fire, discarding that shield in favor of the flame's cleansing. The truth will hurt the both of them; hurt him because he will know that she didn't trust his love enough, hurt her because she will understand that she has betrayed him. But it's better than hiding behind lies for the rest of her life. "No." She answers, never wavering in her response, and she watches as understanding then hurt shock flashes briefly across his face. "I did it for you. I thought you pitied me. I thought that I wasn't good enough for you, that I was too ugly, too dirty, and too _low-class_ to deserve anything you gave to me." Her eyes are welling up with tears and as she looks at the mirror, that cursed mirror, it seems as if she's lost her soul in addition to her pride. 

With a simple kidou spell, his hands obliterate the mirror. 

The shards fly every which way and she wants to ask him why, and how, and more importantly, if he still cares. But her throat closes up on her and she feels the tears slide down her face in small rivulets. They wash away her carefully applied lipstick, her mascara, and her fake identity. Her shaking hands unclip the hair extensions and she is once again Rukongai-bred Rukia. She is once again the ugly duckling. 

He thinks she's never looked more beautiful than now, her heart spilling over her hands like water falling on an already full basin. Her hair is mussed, the same lock of hair falling stubbornly in front of her large, violet eyes. Her face is pale, the tear tracks glistening wetly on her skin. But she is familiar and she is everything he needs. 

"Never change for anyone, Rukia." He says at last, enveloping her in a warm embrace. Her tears soak through his shirt, but he ignores the uncomfortable sensation. "You are perfect the way you are." 

She'd changed herself to earn his love, never knowing until now that she'd had it all along. 

* * *

Author's Notes: This is actually a pretty personal chapter for the first half. I'm a really skinny high-school female and I've been told I look, "Anorexic, unhealthy, not the type guys look for, unsubstantial…etc." And while I understand a lot of models are really skinny, it angers me when I see magazines trying their hardest to put down skinny people as bad influences for the future generations. It's not like I chose to be skinny. It just bothers me a lot when people feel the need to insult one body type just to make another seem better, even superior. Rukia herself is pretty slender and I figured I could work this element in as a reflection of myself. Haha, wow, this turned into a rant. Sorry guys. 

I hope I didn't warp their characters too much. Trust me when I say that the waff towards the end was making my stomach churn. I can't write fluffy scenes to save my life; they always make my eyes scrunch up painfully. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. Don't worry; it'll all come to an end next chapter with the long anticipated "Lust". Comment if you can! I really want to hit 50 reviews by the end of Breaking God! 


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